One More Chance
by ferrisu
Summary: One shot, post-season 7. We all needed this. Shiro finds someone he thought he would never see again. Things are said, tears are shed. The reunion season 8 didn't deliver. (T for mention of death)
1. Part 1

It was… hard, to say the least. Watching his paladins swarmed with the warmth and love of their families and friends after their ordeal. The happiness on their worn and beaten faces and they strained against their bandages and IVs to hug their sisters, and brothers, and parents, and friends. He was there too of course, to congratulate them, to check their progress with the doctors, make sur they knew that it was over. Earth was freed, they could all take a breath.

The worries surrounding their plan, the usual tension in his shoulders that he'd been carrying for his last few years in the castle of lions, even the phantom pain in his shoulder that had plagued him since the Kerberos mission, it had all evaporated as he connected with the Atlas and took his rightful place as its captain. Their victory had been a blur.

He remembered standing at the helm, the fiber of his being vibrating with this _knowing_. This innate assurance and control. The Atlas had felt like and extension of his very body. Coran, Rebecca, they were rushing around the controls, out from the deck, out of the Atlas. They'd left him there, standing with the smallest semblance of belonging in a very long while. He was no longer the black paladin, the leader of the Voltron, but he was not useless, he was not alone.

He'd lapsed out of his dazed state as the Atlas transformed back into its ship form and its conscious no short of kick him out. He'd wandered out of the deck, through somehow familiar hallways and out of an air hatch. The sun had hit his eyes painfully and his metal arm had floated up to block out the sun. The air that filled his lungs tasted of sweat and sand. He belatedly noticed a ground crew rushing past the Atlas to where they'd seen the Red Lion crash land, over the hills, in the excavation sites an hour or so out of the garrison. Rebecca, driving one of the 4-wheelers, was whipping stray tears from her eyes. Coran was going the opposite direction, calling the garrison pilots over the coms, talking fast, ocean, lion, quiznak. Someone was beside him, there was a hand on his shoulder.

'Shiro, what are your order?' Iverson. 'Shiro!' Iverson was asking him what he wanted to do. The lions, the paladins, they had to get to them. Sam had appeared behind Iverson, sounded frazzled.

'Communications are streaming in. Those freed at the Galra construction site have reached Hunk and are bringing him back to the Garrison. Shiro, I have to get Katie.' Shiro knew well the desperation he saw in the old man's eyes, had seen it to well in the eyes of his paladins, his own. Reality slammed into him none too painfully.

'Go, take the Iverson.' They both nodded and left him. And he was running too, back to the deck of the Atlas, ordering over the coms any officers left to the helm. They flew the ship back to the garrison effortlessly, it knew where it was going, could feel its destination in Shiro's consciousness. The black lion had landed in the air field behind the garrison. They found Keith unconscious at the commands, a nasty gash at his temple and his breathing shallow. The Black lion had allowed them into the cockpit, knowing they were there to help her pilot, but she showed no familiarity to Shiro. He wasn't her paladin anymore. He wasn't a paladin anymore.

He stayed by Keith's side during the following days, only leaving to check on the other paladins in the crowded hospital wing. The injured from the fight with the Galra were streaming in from miles around, from far cities and underground bunkers. Rebel groups had taken up command in the freed cities, organizing medical help and shelters, opening communication lines. The garrison was sending out any supplies they could spare. Coran and Sam, when forced from their respective wards in the hospital, had magnified the garrison's satellite using the Atlas, and could now transmit to any corner of the universe. Help came streaming in from everywhere, the balmera, the Voltron Alliance, the Blade of Malmora. Shiro left Keith's side once his mother arrived. She'd thanked him, and he'd felt empty. Iverson, who'd filled the power void in the aftermath of the attack, gladly ceded rank and took his place as Shiro's right hand man.

Shiro didn't sleep, or just barely, during the following days, weeks. He could not remember exactly how long it was before he was standing in front of the Lions, addressing the world through the broadcasting system Sam had set up for the occasion. Lines had been restored to most major cities around the world, and the ships brought by the aliens allowed easy travel to even the most secluded and unreachable areas. The MFE pilots were out every day to the four corners of the globe, restoring a semblance of order and accompanying the well-meaning extra-terrestrial help (which wasn't always welcomed with open arms). Shiro's main concern was easing inter-species relations. Once the paladins were on their feet again, they would have their work cut out for them. Not to mention the recovery mission for the Galra's beast which was slow and arduous. Sam was overlooking the operation, but it still preoccupied Shiro, who felt the Earth was at a disadvantage until they understood what they were up against. The fight was over, but what war had they begun?

Shiro didn't remember what he said during his speech, but everyone clapped him on the shoulder, wanted to shake his hand. He stood in the shadow of the Black lion and knew the world was now looking to him for guidance in these trying times, even as he stood like an imposter, in a body made by the Galra, with an arm not his own, commanding a people he'd had no contact with for years. He was an outsider with charismatic words and a cool temper in a fight. But now? Now that the fight was over, and he was left standing at the helm of this half-sunken ship of a world, somehow expected to make it rise from the depths it had fallen into singlehandedly? The belonging he'd felt at the head of Atlas had faded, leaving nothing but the cold, lonely hardships of being a leader.

He tasked Iverson with consolidating a network of the rebel groups that had taken commands of nearby cities, with creating an alliance and a partnership that would come useful once they could secure enough cities and put into place enough services to establish a new government. A Universal Council had already formed by some outcroppings of human groups and organizations around the world to deal with extraterrestrial matters. Shiro had been elected to a seat.

The meetings were lengthy and often inconclusive, leaving Shiro frustrated with the bureaucratises and craving the thrill of the fights that haunted his nightmares. He'd delegated the seat to Iverson, and taken up charge of the rebel network in his place. The distances he covered were too short to take out the Atlas, but a garrison fighter jet quenched his thirst for the freedom of the commands for now.

He was flying only an hour out of the garrison today, due north-west, beyond a huge Galra-made river that had been dug and angled towards their work camp to cool down the metal of their super weapon during construction. The rushing water had been too hard to overcome as of yet seeing as materials were scarce for a bridge, but the dismantling of the slave-camps was proving useful in parts and resources. Depending on how his meeting went, they would focus resources here and form a trade route running between the garrison and the city beyond the river.

Shiro landed on a crumbling highway outside of the city center where most buildings had fallen and caved, leaving distorted metal structures of awkward heights to form the core. He had received instructions to continue on foot to a repurposed museum, repurposed as a command center for the rebel group in charge of the surrounding area and city.

The sun was high and warm, reflecting off shattered glass that littered the road and the few store fronts still impressively intact since the Galra occupation. His starch white hair was slicked back with sweat and he unbuttoned the top of his uniform to allow some of the cool air in the shade of the collapsed buildings to run down his back. He ran into a group of scouts but encountered no problems, they were expecting him. The eyes of the shortest of the duo looked surprised over the scarf that covered their nose and mouth, and kept staring somewhat unsubtly at Shiro's hair and floating arm. The taller one whacked his shoulder and gave them a stern look. They walked in silence back to the base of operations. They came upon a rather intact, two story building, shortly. It was strategically surrounded by higher structures that shielded it from aerial attacks, and the zigzagging rout they had taken to get there was confusing enough to scramble a ground attack. Shiro was impressed. Their leader was not unfamiliar to warfare.

Upon entering the premises of the school, his guides shed their scarves and weapons and talked animatedly to fellow rebels who were streaming in and out of the building. The place was surprisingly crowded, mostly with foot soldiers and what looked like some logistics staffs. They had computers set up and a communications area that stretched to a national level. Impressive, considering the damage done to the city and their crude systems. A huge board covered with a detailed map of the city was hung on one of the far walls. Someone had drawn on multiple red zones and designated rebel occupancy in the area as well a makeshift hospitals and outposts. They seemed to be undertaking a salvaging operation on the harder hit areas of the city and placing civilians in safer structures in the outskirts of town. It was… Incredible.

He'd held communications with the second in command after initial contact was made thanks to garrison pilot's search and connect operations. They'd talked through a clear connection and made the arrangements for Shiro to come and meet the rebel leader who was otherwise occupied with setting up the salvaging operations in the sections of the city where communication was difficult through short range coms due to the amount of rubble.

'Shiro!' A rumbling voice he recognized from the earlier calls sounded to his left. He turned to find a tall sleek woman in a mechanics jumpsuit tied around her waist striding towards him through the crowd of rebels milling around the gallery floor. Her buzz cut left uncovered a nasty scar that ran from her right temple to the back of her head, and Shiro got the feeling she kept her hair short for the very purpose of leaving it visible. He stuck out his real hand and she shook, grip firm, hands calloused. She didn't spare a glance of his floating prosthetic. 'Welcome.'

'Thank you, Commander Gilsig.' Her eyes crinkled with a smile her lips didn't betray.

'Amanda.' She insisted, and again Shiro was caught off guard by the low timber of her voice. It suited her. 'The chief should be back any second.' She indicated the door he had just walked through with a tilt of her chin.

'The salvation operation?' He asked, hoping to make small talk, though she seemed sparing of her words.

'It's slow work, got two blocks cleared last week. Would go faster if the chief didn't insist on doing most of the work himself.'

'Are you low on man power?' The garrison was almost bursting with people wanting to help the cause.

'Quite the opposite, we've got too many head strong people. Chief being the first.' He lips quirked at that and Shiro let out a small chuckle.

'I won't keep him too long them.' He assured her, but her expression closed.

'I was hoping you might get him to sit his ass down for once. Politics is a sitting down kind of job. He might hate it, but it would be better for him.' The words rung in his head and he wondered what exactly she meant. At the same time, he felt a sudden burst of empathy for this chief figure. He knew the ache of action when you're made to stand still.

Doors swung open behind him, and he heard a loud rambunctious laugh explode into the command center, followed by a low throaty chuckle that made Shiro's heart seize in his chest. He swung on his heels and faced the entrance. His hands shook, his head buzzed, and he felt like the ground might open up beneath his feet and swallow him whole. Even facing Zarkon head on had not affected him this way.

No, he had been abducted by aliens, had his arm severed from his body and replaced by alien tech. He had protected his friends at the cost of his own blood and tears and escaped that hell hole only to be thrown back into the midst of a war he had no place fighting in. He had lead kids. _Kids._ Into battle, and had promised to bring them home, no matter what it would take from him. He had _died_. For Fucks sake. He had been dead, then had his consciousness transplanted into the body of a clone. He had spent a year roaming through space only to find his home planet occupied by Galra forces. He'd had enough craziness in the last few years to last a handful of lifetimes. His nerves were steel by this point. And yet, nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the man he knew was dead, standing in front of him.

'Adam?' And the words took the air right out of his lungs, Shiro could feel his knees quacking under him and thought he might collapse right then and there. He was going to wake up, this was nothing but a terrible, terrible, bittersweet dream. It was his mind tempting him with thing he knew he couldn't have. It wouldn't be the first time. Iverson had found him plenty of times asleep in his office or in the kitchen, quiet tears dried on his cheeks. No one had said a word, there was nothing to say.

But there he was, brown hair longer than Shiro remembered, and cut haphazardly. Glasses askew and sporting a crack on one lens, he looked worn, weathered, and beautiful. More beautiful than anything Shiro had seen in his adventure through outer space. He wore scavenged clothes and a garrison emblem sewed into his jacket. Shiro racked his eyes down the length of the man he had thought dead and his eyes caught on a crude prosthetic where his left leg ended just below his knee. Shiro though his heart might jump out of his chest at that point and he had to lean on the desk behind him for support.

Adam wasn't any better off. Amanda had mentioned a diplomatic mission from the garrison, but they hadn't yet gotten visuals up and were relying on phone lines for communications so she hadn't been able to describe to him who would be flying over. Adam hadn't wanted to know the list of casualties from the garrison. There had been so much death in the recent months that hoping for his friends to still be alive only caused him more pain than he could handle. He'd come to terms after the crash that the chances were no one survived the galra attack. He'd simply been lucky. He hadn't moved on per say, but he'd compartmentalized, he'd become efficient and functional. He'd raised a rebel force from scared survivors and rained hell down on the galra forces that occupied the city. When earth was freed, it was a win, but it wasn't over. To rebuild would take work and time, and he would take on anything that would get him out of his head. When he'd seen the tuff of white hair, his brain hadn't registered. Collins was off on a rant about his daughter's newest obsession, which had managed to wrench a smile from his usually closed expression, when they had walked back into headquarters. But as soon as the wide-shouldered figure had turned, it was as if Adam had been struck to the chest with a plasma bullet. He didn't see the scars, he didn't see the haunted look in Shiro's eyes, he didn't see the metal arm, he only saw the man he had carefully locked away in the back of his thoughts for so long the name was almost unfamiliar on his tongue. Takashi. Takashi. _Takashi._ He couldn't say it, it got stuck in his throat. He wanted to yell it, to scream it, but he could barely breathe. Takashi.

He took a step forward, too taken up by the vision of the man before him to remember to keep his weight centered. He lurched forward as his prosthetic swept out from under him and he went tumbling. He closed his eyes as the floor flew up to meet him. But his body didn't jerk with the usual impact (he had fallen over enough in the first few months after the crash to know it). Instead, one warm hand, and one cold metal one had grabbed him round the biceps to hold him up. Adam opened his eyes and met the gaze of a man he had once loved more than he thought possible. And he wanted nothing more in that moment to hit him over the head with a bat.

'You… You're fucking alive?' He wrenched himself backwards, out of Shiro's grip. He tripped backward but Collins was there to catch his arm and steady him. Shiro could do nothing more than blink. 'You're alive. You're fucking… alive!' He couldn't seem to say anything else even with Takashi's name swimming in his mind, drowning out any other logical thought. Takashi is alive.

'I'm alive.' Shiro deadpanned, muttering the words as if he could barely believe them himself.

'You know each other?' Asked Collins from behind Adam. Adam almost laughed. Knew each other? If he only knew how well. But he had never mentioned Takashi to anyone after the crash. He always held the irrational fear that if he let the words that described Takashi, the stories they shared together, their memories, that they would leave him too, and he could not bear the thought. It was Shiro who answered.

'We're engaged.' The room went quiet and everyone who had heard was throwing quizzical looks between the two frozen men who couldn't tear their gaze from each other.

'We _were_.' Said Adam, and regretted the words as soon as Takashi lurched back as if physically hit by them. He wanted to take them back, but suddenly they were spilling out faster than he could keep track. 'We were engaged, and he was going to die but I didn't care because we would get married and you' Takashi. Oh Takashi. 'you were going to live. You were going to stay, and you were going to fight, because I was worth more than a stupid mission to a stupid moon.' Takashi. He couldn't say his name. It was too heavy, too hard.

'Adam.' It was nothing but a name, Shiro had no other words but his name, and he held onto it as if his life line. He was still shell shocked, felt like he'd gotten hit but a thousand stun rays and couldn't move, couldn't manage to get air into his lungs to breathe. He could only see the plaque with Adam's name flashing in front of his eyes. The scream that was caught in his chest since, one he had suppressed mercilessly because war was not time to grieve. 'Adam.'

'Shut up! You. You left. You left, you died. You have no fucking right to say my name. You idiot. You stupid fucking bastard. You left. You left, you left me. You left. And I was here. And you died. You left-' And Takashi had taken two steps and taken his face between his hands, one warm and familiar, the other cold and metal and it didn't matter, because Takashi was kissing him as if he was the only thing left in the whole of the universe. His lips crashed against his own and their teeth knocked as their mouths collided. It was all tongue and anger and grief, tears thrown somewhere into the mix, and Adam's arms where around Takashi's waist as he gripped the back of his uniform to stay standing. He had half a mind to push the man away and smack him, but he never had tasted anything as sweet as his lips in his life. A pressure in his chest eased and he breathed deeply for the first time in months. The world was clear and sharp and he could feel Takashi against him, his tongue in his mouth and his breathe quick and ragged as he claimed every last broken piece of Adam as his own. He didn't care, not that they were in a room full of people, not that Adam was not the man he had left, not that maybe Adam didn't forgive him for all the crap he had put him through, Adam was there, was alive. And that was more than enough to make up for dying a couple times. They fell apart when oxygen proved to be scarce and necessary to their immediate survival, but they stayed glued to each other. Takashi's hands lost in Adam's messy hair, Adam's arm around Takashi, their foreheads leaning against each other.

'Takashi' The name escaped his lips, effortless. They both collapsed.

* * *

A/N

I just needed this after season 7 guys. Hope it helped ease some of that pain. Whooo I'm drained from writing that. It'd been a couple days in the making, mostly just sudden spurts of inspiration so if its a bit haphazard, that's why. I'm probably gonna leave this a one shot, but if you guys really like it I'll either add a bit to this, or write another one shot, I'll play it by ear.


	2. Part 2

It was a maintenance closet, and it really, honestly, didn't matter. They'd escaped the prying eyes of the rebels by carefully disentangling themselves from their hurried and desperate embrace, and, as casually as they could, announced they would proceed with the planned meeting. Amanda hadn't even bothered to follow them, and for that, Shiro would be eternally grateful. As soon as they'd turned the corner, Adam had opened the closest door and pulled Shiro into the small dark space beyond. Closing the rest of the world off behind them.

His lips crashed against Adam's in the dark and his hands went for his hair, his shirt, his belt. Shiro was everywhere at once, him tongue fighting for the familiar dominance of Adam's mouth, the taste so sweet it ached. How he'd craved this moment, with every second, with every breathe, of the last few years. Sparks erupted along his skin everywhere Adam touched him, hands in his hair, under his shirt, tracing unfamiliar scars with cold fingertips. Shiro shivered violently, but for once the memories did not assail his senses and send him tumbling pack into the arena. No, he was here, pushing his un-dead fiancé up against a rough cement wall, working his way steady down his neck and along his collar bone with a mix of chaste kisses and shallow bites. He was decidedly inelegantly pulling at the rusted clasp of Adam's belt in jerky, desperate motions while Adam shoved his shirt up his chest. They wanted to feel each other, skin to skin, like they hadn't had in years. Callouses and scars made up most of their anatomy now, and yet, though the skin they touched might not have been the one they remembered from years ago, the same hearts still pumped with ragged frenzy as they tore at each other's clothes. Shiro had memorized the curve of Adam's neck with his lips, and this felt like coming home. He knew this man. He had the faintest fleeting memory in that moment of leaving Adam in the Garrison officer's rec room for the sake of space exploration, and scoffed, because for all the crazy space-exploration crap he had gotten out of that decision, this, was so much better. He caught Adam's earlobe between his teeth and gave a quick bite.

" _Takashi_." So much better.

* * *

A/N Because I couldn't resist, and it's been sitting on my laptop ever since. Val, I should be studying. You're welcome.


End file.
